


Pack

by Wind_Ryder



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Animals, Body Horror, Dogs, Torture, Wolves, felid, weres
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2248902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The neighbors had all insisted that they didn’t understand how a nice cat like Bucky was friends with a sickly mutt like Steve. They whispered about it constantly, but neither paid half a mind to them. They were more than used to the attention. Any Mix was. </p><p>Bucky, with his shiny ears and pristine tail, was a gorgeous felid that could get any mate he wanted. He had the speed and grace of his feline ancestors, but he had the build of a man. He was a rarity, and a good-looking one at that. </p><p>Steve’s top ears were folded over, having never had the strength to stand upright, and his bottom ears barely worked. His tail was ragged from being in to many fights, and his claws were useless. He was supposed to be a fierce hound, a shepherd of some kind, but he never grew into his body and his nose didn’t even work. He could hardly smell the cat on Bucky, even though his eyes told him what was obvious. Bucky should have reeked to him, but instead he just felt like pack, and so Steve had let the cat do whatever he’d wanted. That’s what pack did for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pack

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd - written in the night after the idea came upon me.

Bucky liked to knead the fabric on Steve’s leg. At night while Steve was reading or drawing, he’d curl up on the couch at his side, press his head against Steve’s hip, and knead his leg. His claws came pressed in and out of the fabric, careful to not put holes into the trousers, but still applying a sharp sting of pressure. He’d done it for so many years, that Steve had long since gotten used to it. He barely even paid attention to the small claws as the scratched against his skin. Sometimes he even responded by running a hand through Bucky’s hair and stroking the dark brown ears that protruded from Bucky’s skull.

 

“Dumb cat,” Steve told him as he smiled down at him.

 

“Stupid dog,” Bucky always retorted, tail curling around his body as he continued to knead. If Steve managed to get a particularly good spot on Bucky’s scalp, he’d even start purring.

 

The neighbors had all insisted that they didn’t understand how a nice cat like Bucky was friends with a sickly mutt like Steve. They whispered about it constantly, but neither paid half a mind to them. They were more than used to the attention. Any Mix was.

 

Bucky, with his shiny ears and pristine tail, was a gorgeous felid that could get any mate he wanted. He was a perfectly proportional mix of feline and human. His claws were retractable, his top ears and bottom ears worked in tandem with each other, and his tail was just the right length. He had the speed and grace of his feline ancestors, but he had the build of a man. He was a rarity, and a good-looking one at that.

 

Steve’s top ears were folded over, having never had the strength to stand upright, and his bottom ears barely worked. His tail was ragged from being in to many fights, and his claws were useless. He was supposed to be a fierce hound, a shepherd of some kind, but he never grew into his body and his nose didn’t even work. He could hardly smell the cat on Bucky, even though his eyes told him what was obvious. Bucky should have reeked to him, but instead he just felt like _pack_ , and so Steve had let the cat do whatever he’d wanted. That’s what pack did for each other.

 

Bucky stretched his back out, digging his claws into Steve’s leg as he yawned and Steve growled as the pricks threatened to cut his skin. “Oh, _relax_ , Rogers, you’re such a whiner,” Bucky complained as he stood up and wandered to the cabinets. Steve had been sketching cartoons for the local rag for the past hour, and Bucky was tired of sitting around. He opened the cupboards and stared at the nonexistent food that was there, before sighing and throwing himself back onto the couch. It was late and he knew he should go to sleep, but he wanted to do something. _Anything_. Tension was coiled under his skin and he felt the urge to just run until he couldn’t run any more.

 

“You’re pacing,” Steve told him as he turned the page in his notebook and started to draw some more.

 

“Hm…come do something with me.” Bucky squatted at his side again.

 

“I’m drawing.”

 

“I wanna do something.”

 

“You want me to draw you?”

 

“It’s _boring_ modeling.” Steve rolled his eyes and reached in between the couch cushion. There was a rolled up ball of yarn that was left over from the last time they’d had to darn their socks, and Steve shook it in the air with a waggle of his eyes. “Hey Buuuuckyyy…”

 

“You throw that thing and I’m going to stuff it down your throat,” Bucky warned even as his eyes instinctively tracked the ball. Steve snorted. Bucky’s claws had slid out the moment the ball was in sight and his top ears were pointed forwards. He could complain all he wanted, but he was distracted. His tail had started flicking from side to side and his tongue wet his lips.

 

Steve tossed it up in the air and caught it deftly. His right hand continued to sketch the cartoon he was working on as Bucky pretended he wasn’t slowly slinking closer to the yarn. He was halfway through shading a politician’s arm, when Bucky dove forwards in a mad attempt to reclaim the ball for himself.

 

Steve yelped as they both went tumbling to the floor. The dog in him latched onto the toy immediately and held it close even as he twisted his body around Bucky’s scrambling limbs. Steve rolled to the left and Bucky slid after him. His hands reached out and his claws dug into Steve’s shirt. It tore and Steve growled in frustration even as Bucky’s fingers scrambled for the yarn.

 

“You’re,” he huffed, “fixing this when we’re done!” He kicked out with his legs and Bucky melted around the blow. His lithe body seemed to liquefy as he molded around the foot and twisted so he was turning in another direction. “You said you didn’t want it!”

 

“Wanna play,” Bucky replied. “You wouldn’t.” He changed tactics and literally pounced over Steve’s head in an attempt to snare the ball, but Steve lobbed it in the other direction and Bucky was left scrambling in an attempt to change his trajectory mid air. Steve ran after the yarn, huffing as he realized it was starting to unravel.

 

Bucky was right behind him, getting ready to tackle him into their lumpy couch once more. Steve twisted and turned, flailing an arm out in an attempt to put more space between them. The back of his hand smacked hard against Bucky’s left top ear, and he went down like a ton of bricks. The yowl was high pitched and searing, it sent the hairs at the back of Steve’s neck upright as he stared in horror at the site of his litter-mate in pain.

 

“Bucky? Buck I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” he fell to his knees at his friend’s side and reached out to touch his arm. Immediately Bucky snatched the yarn ball from his lax fingers and clutched it against his chest. Steve couldn’t bring himself to care that he lost the game. “How’s your ear?” He reached out a trembling hand towards the spotted appendage. Bucky’s ears were flat against his head, and his tail was tucked down. His free hand cupped over the injured ear and he stroked it even as his claws dug into the yarn.

 

“It’s fine,” Bucky told him quietly. “Really.” He smiled up at Steve, but it was watery at best.

 

“I’m sorry.” Steve apologized anyway. Bucky’s ears had always been sensitive. Even when they’d been children he’d been picky about them. They were an erogenous zone, and he was ridiculous about the fact that he wanted nothing more than for them to be rubbed whenever he saw the opportunity arise. But as wonderful as they felt when they were being rubbed, they were very easily injured. The slightest touch could make him hiss and yowl with pain, and Steve really did know better. “I didn’t mean to…”

 

“It’s fine.” Bucky reached out and pat his arm. “Come on, I’ll fix your shirt. I didn’t mean that either.”

 

Steve ignored the false platitudes and reached towards his friend’s flattened ear. He slid his fingers around the hair that surrounded the soft fur that coated the base and rubbed at it until Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed and his hand dropped to his side. He stroked the appendage slowly, going from base to tip until Bucky had pitched forwards and curled back up by his lap. Even then Steve continued to pet and massage his ear and scalp until Bucky was purring quietly at his side.

 

“It’s never ‘fine’ if I hurt you. You’re pack.”

 

“I’m not your pack, Stevie,” Bucky rumbled, tail moving back to wrap around his legs as he curled closer to Steve’s body. “I’m a cat. Cats don’t have packs, we’re solitary creatures.”

 

“You’re my pack,” Steve insisted. “Don’t you dare say you’re not.” His fingers tightened around a loose lock of hair, and he tried to imagine what it would feel like without Bucky at his side. His mother and father were dead, losing Bucky would mean he’d be alone and the thought alone made his gut twist painfully inside him. Bucky’s blue eyes peeked up at him and tilted his head up into Steve’s frozen hand.

 

“Leap,” he offered quietly.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Leopards. A leap of leopards. It’s what ma and us kids are called. We don’t have packs. Our dad left the moment he’d done his duty, and that’s just how it always is. But mom, Becky, and I are a leap.” Steve had heard this before; it was fairly common information.  He didn’t see how it applied now. “You’re not exactly leap material,” Bucky drawled slowly. “What with you being a mangy mutt and all.”

 

“Nice,” Steve scoffed as he shoved at found a particularly well loved spot behind Bucky’s right ear.

 

“Suppose I could be in your pack if you had an opening, I mean, if you _really_ wanted me to and all.”

 

“Mighty generous of you.” Steve rolled his eyes and Bucky’s tail thumped against his leg.

 

“I thought so. Mutt.”

 

“Alley.” Steve leaned down and wrapped his arms around Bucky, ignoring the way he tensed up immediately. Steve didn’t pay it any mind. Bucky had consented to hugging long ago, and even though he complained about it almost every time, he still put up with it.  His tail thumped loudly on the ground as he wriggled in Steve’s grasp, and Steve smiled as he counted down the seconds until Bucky eventually pulled away.

 

The felid hopped to his feet and took the yarn with him, before hunting down a pair of needles to fix Steve’s shirt with. Steve watched him go, fondness blooming in his chest. He didn’t care if it was unconventional and Bucky didn’t like engaging in proper pack behavior, he’d make do. Besides, Bucky was smart enough, Steve could probably teach him what he needed to do. It was the only thing that Steve had to offer, and as long as Bucky was willing to be a part of his family, then he was more than happy to have him.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

The war changed everything.

 

When they first heard about Pearl Harbor everyone was on edge, but when Bucky’s numbers were called on the draft board: the war became personal. Bucky came home from work early, and Steve just had to look at him to know what happened. Bucky’s top ears were flat against his skull and his tail was swishing violently from one side to the other.

 

He prowled around their apartment refusing to look at Steve, let alone talk to him. He clenched his hands spasmodically and his claws dug shallow cuts into his palms.  Steve hadn’t bothered trying to calm him. Whenever Bucky got like this letting him work off the agitation was far preferable to getting into an argument with him. Bucky had a tendency to not control himself whenever he got into physical altercations, and Steve had enough to worry about without adding _was beaten up by a cat_ to his list. He much preferred to let the dumb dogs that picked fights with him face Bucky’s wrath. Bucky had beaten the hell out of his fair share of dogs before, and they always looked surprised when they had a face full of claws and a sharp kick in the ass from the lithe felid. Steve had no intentions on joining their ranks, and so he let Bucky pace.

 

But as the hours passed and Bucky showed no signs of stopping, Steve worriedly turned to the state of their floor. Bucky had kicked off his shoes at some point, agitated enough that the far less sensitive claws on his feet had started to strain against his boots. There were dozens of nicks and abrasions in the wood and Steve sighed. They didn’t have the money to fix the floor if he kept at it.

 

“Buck…” He stepped forward slowly, holding his hands up. Every instinct he had was to go to him, hold him close and cuddle him until his hackles went down and he was calm again. Bucky would never stand for that kind of behavior.

 

“You come near me you _filthy dog,_ and I’ll kill you,” Bucky hissed at him wagging one finger in the air to prove his point.

 

“I ain’t gonna come near you,” Steve rolled his eyes and motioned towards one of the spare logs they had from winter. Bucky tracked his movement and licked his lips. He rubbed his fingers together before grinding his teeth down tight. Steve caught the sight of one of Bucky’s fangs as it protruded passed his lips. It’d been so long since he saw it that Steve had to blink a few times to verify it was really there.

 

Bucky dove at the wood piece, though, nails ripping apart the wood in seconds. He shredded it furiously, and continued to slash and rip it apart even when it was barely more than woodchips. Blood splattered around the remains of the log from where a long sliver had bypassed his claw and embedded itself in his finger. Steve had to force himself not to say anything as he looked at it.

 

“It’s not fair!” Bucky shouted at the wood, slamming his hands onto the floor. He was gasping for breath. His blue eyes were flecked with gold and had shrank to pinpricks as he clawed at the remains.

 

“No…it’s not.”

 

“I didn’t sign up for this!”

 

“No, you didn’t.” Bucky swiveled on his heel and looked up at Steve, he was trembling violently.

 

“I don’t want to go.” His ears were shifting, lying flat on his head and then turning to face Steve, over and over again. Steve dared to take a step forwards. Bucky didn’t react, and so he approached even closer.

 

“I’m sorry, Buck. I’m so sorry.” He reached out towards him, and Bucky flinched away from his hand.

 

“I’m not a dog.”

 

“I know. I know, but I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know what to do except this.” Steve explained. Bucky trembled where he sat, but didn’t pull back again when Steve reached out once more. He pressed a hand to Bucky’s hair and pet him twice. It was as much as he could do before Bucky was back to pacing in violent bursts around the apartment.

 

They were out of wood, and Steve didn’t have anything else that could be used as an outlet for Bucky’s aggression. He stood up and moved to the door, planning on borrowing something from the neighbor if he had to, when Bucky marched over and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist. Steve froze, and let him hold him for a minute.

 

“This hugging thing is useless,” Bucky decided, still not letting go.

 

“Probably,” Steve agreed. He didn’t dare try to hold Bucky back, but his own tail wagged between his legs and he knew that Bucky could feel it against his body.

 

“Stupid dog,” Bucky murmured as he tilted his head down against Steve’s spine. “Don’t tell anyone.”

 

“You’re pack,” Steve told him. “Anything for pack.”

 

“Stupid dog,” Bucky repeated.  His ear tips brushed against Steve’s shoulder blades, and they both pretended that Bucky wasn’t crying.

 

Four days later as Bucky prepared to leave for basic training, Steve attempted to enlist for the first time. Bucky was furious with him. He was beyond furious. His 4F was torn to shreds and half his sleeve went along with it.

 

“Why? Why would you do this?!” Bucky shouted as he gestured angrily towards the broken pages.

 

“You’re pack,” Steve replied numbly. “Anything for pack.”

 

“Stupid dog! Stupid, stupid dog!” Bucky slapped at Steve’s hands and his arms, and his shoulders until he collapsed before him and clung on tight. “Don’t do this, don’t sign up, please, please don’t sign up. I don’t want you there. I don’t want you there. Alone. Alone. I want to be alone. Not you, not there. _No!_ ”

 

“Pack,” Steve whispered unthinkingly.

 

“Leap. Alone. No one else.”

 

“Pack.”

 

“No. Please no.”

 

Steve tried four more times to join the army while Bucky was away, and even when he came back, he tried again just before he shipped out for good. He watched as Bucky chased after the last tails he’d chase on American soil, and he tried to follow him one more time.

 

“It’s my last night, Stevie…you’re not going to come with me?” he asked as he glared at the war booth.

 

“Pack, Buck. I gotta try. I gotta try. Don’t win the war until I get there.” Bucky gave him a half-hearted salute, before turning and walking away. His ears were pinned flat and his tail wasn’t swaying. His back was tense, and it was the last Steve would see of him before everything changed.  

 

The war changed everything, but it changed Steve first.

 

Erksine’s experiment took everything that Steve was and amplified it far beyond what it should have been to start with. It made him the dog he was supposed to be. His smell was sharper than ever before. His eyes were keener than they’d ever been. His _ears_ could _hear!_ They were upright now, not folded over like a puppy’s. His tail was flush and full, and his body was built for power and strength. He could feel the potential in his limbs and he felt bigger and better than ever before. His heart beat wildly in his chest as he reached out for the scent of his pack that was gone and away, but he was soon realizing that he wanted to make a bigger pack. He wanted to claim the sweet hound bitch that was with him from the start of the experiment, he wanted the scientists, he wanted allies, and he wanted his _first_ pack-mate back.

 

He posed and danced like a good figure of the American people, but he never forgot the smell of his pack. He never forgot the feeling of claws kneading at his leg that were a symbol of _home._ Erksine had changed his body, but not his mind.

 

Italy changed that.

 

He found Bucky lying on a slab with straps holding him still. His top ears were worn ragged, his tail was ruffled and blood splattered. The edge had been kinked at some point and broken. He stared up at the ceiling without seeing a thing, and he barely seemed to notice when Steve stood before him.

 

“Bucky?” Steve asked as he nudged his friend’s arm. Bucky’s eyes fell on him, and stared until he re-introduced himself. “Bucky, it’s Steve.” He unbuckled the straps, and ran a hand through Bucky’s hair. He flinched when Steve touched his top ears. They shied away from his touch and his whole body shuddered at the contact.

 

“Steve?” Bucky asked. “Pack?” his voice cracked at the word, and Steve lowered his head to rest against Bucky’s.

 

“Pack. Can you stand?” Bucky nodded jerkily, and Steve helped him up. His beautiful spotted tail was blood spattered and missing fur along its length in different places. The end looked like it had been broken at some point, and hung at an awkward angle from the rest of it. Bucky stumbled badly, and Steve looped an arm under his legs to lift him. “DOWN!” Claws slashed across his face and Steve hissed as Bucky recoiled away. He cupped his cheek in amazement. Bucky had never intentionally clawed him before, especially not on his face. The attack wasn’t deep, though. If anything, it was just a string of shallow cuts. It was healed even as he pulled his hand away, and Bucky looked sick as he watched. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 

“Bucky?” Steve asked. He reached out to touch Bucky’s shoulder, but he recoiled and trembled violently as he tried to get away.

 

“Leap. Leap alone. Leap-”

 

“Bucky?”

 

“Steve?”

 

“Yes…I’m here.” Steve touched his hand. “I’m here, we’re heading out, okay. You’re safe now. You’re with me. I promise. Our pack is always going to be safe.”

 

“Pack?” Bucky blinked slowly and then shook his head. His eyes finally seemed to focus. “Stupid dog.” He whispered, and Steve smiled.

 

“Mangy Alley-cat.” He slung one of Bucky’s arms over his shoulder and hurried for the exit. Hours later, when Bucky showed little signs of trauma and was moving about perfectly fine, Steve left him with some of the other soldiers to see if he could help the more fragile members of their party.

 

He didn’t know it then, but it was the first night that he should have realized something terribly awful had happened to his pack. But everything smelled so much different now, that the subtle changes in Bucky’s scent hadn’t registered as trouble. He simply thought that he finally was smelling Bucky for the cat he really was.

 

“You smell awful, Buck.” Steve teased, and when Bucky had flinched at the comment, he’d quietly apologized. “Sorry, I just…I never noticed before. You smell like a cat now.”

 

“Do I?” Bucky asked dully, and he didn’t argue when Steve confirmed his opinion.

 

After Italy, Steve’s pack grew to include a group of dogs that came from all different walks of life. They were proud and dangerous creatures who were proud to stand up next to Steve Rogers and fight the good fight. They called themselves the Howling Commandos and everyone thought it was hilarious, except for Bucky who grumbled about the name from start to finish.

 

“You’re all stupid, stinking, mangy, mutts.” he declared time and again, and they stroke his hair and scratched his ears, and told him that they still liked him anyway, despite being a stray.

 

Bucky’s tail was permanently kinked at the end. He tried to snap the bone back into place, but it wouldn’t slide in properly and continued to dangle uselessly. He couldn’t reconnect the nerves that ran to the tip, and so the whole bottom dangled without control. He clung to it obsessively, keeping it out of the way of anyone and everything.  The Commandos quickly realized his paranoia, and were quick to enforce it. Whenever someone got funny and tried to snatch at it as a joke, one or all of them were there putting a thick barrier between them and the spotted limb.

 

“Pack,” they told him whenever he questioned their determination. His ears always slid to the side then, embarrassed by the comment.

 

His left ear was the saddest part, Seve thought. There was a cut through it that tore 1/3 of the way through the helix. While the rest of it was generally fine, and his hearing was damaged, the cut was so out of place on the normally well maintained felid. Bucky obsessively ran his fingers over the cut as though it would magically grow back, and he always tucked his head away from view when he was meeting someone.

 

“You’re so vain,” Steve told him, shaking his head. “You’re fine.” Bucky didn’t say anything to that, just curled up in a ball and held his tail to his chest as he tried to catch some sleep. The rest of the Commandos piled in on top of each other, pressed up against their bodies and looking like a proper pack. Steve joined them every night, smiling as he was wrapped in the comfort of the men he chose as his family. Bucky watched them from afar. He was always offered a place in their group, but he never took them up on it.

 

“Leap,” he reminded them time and again.

 

“Pack,” they always replied.

 

Sometime between the seventh and twelfth Hydra base, Steve woke up to find that Bucky had curled up against him in the night. He was still clutching his tail and his ears were twitching in agitation, but Steve smiled and pulled him closer. “Pack.” He reminded him, and quietly Bucky replied: “pack.” It was a start.

 

Bucky still called them every derogative he could think of, but his protests were half hearted at best. He was still proud of being a cat, and they still encouraged his talents, but he put up with their ‘flaws’ more than any other felid they came across. To them, there was no difference between him and the rest of the world. It was perfectly natural to have a felid in the group, and they welcomed him every step of the way.

 

Then the fall came.

 

Bucky had been petrified. Steve would never forget the way Bucky’s ice blue eyes looked over at him as he clung desperately to the side of the train. His claws dug into the sheet metal and his feet scrambled for purchase. He clung onto it like any house-cat would a tree. He was desperate and he was filled with fear that Steve could smell even up wind of him. Steve held out his hand, and Bucky reached back, and then he lost his grip, and he fell to his death.

 

Steve screamed as he tried to catch him, but all he received for his effort was a glove filled with empty air. Bucky’s voice, filled with terrified agony, echoed on repeat in his head. _Failed_. He’d failed his littermate. He’d failed his pack. He’d failed, and Bucky had died. He’d fallen down and disappeared into the earth below, and there was nothing Steve could do to bring him back.

 

That night, he clung desperately to his pack and they clung on to him right back. There was an empty space between them all and their missing leap was enough to tear a hole through their hearts. Bucky’s scream haunted their nightmares. His teasing words echoed uselessly. _Stupid mutts_.

 

No one replied ‘dumb alley cat.’ They couldn’t handle the truth of his death.

 

They didn’t want to.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

After Schmidt dies, the plane crashes and Steve wakes up in the future. He is introduced to Nick Fury who tells him the world still needs him, and his whole pack is dead. He feels the break of those bonds like a physical blow and he’s thrown into therapy as they try to ease him into the new world.

 

He’s so desperate for a pack that he hardly argues when Fury introduces him to the best candidates he has. A bird, a were, and an Ordinary meet his gaze and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to say to any of this. There’s a cat too, and she slinks around them with hidden eyes and a smell that sends him reeling back to the 1940s, because that smell is of Bucky and _home_ , and he hates it on her.

 

He’s never spent much time with birds. They usually stay up in the Aviary and they don’t mingle with the ground-folk too often. This one, Clint Barton, seems to have no problem whatsoever meeting with them and perching beside his cat, Natasha. There’s no doubt that the cat is his, or that he is hers, and it hurts because that’s how it used to be for Bucky and Steve.

 

Bruce Banner is a mix of calming intelligence and horror rolled into one. Where they share aspects with their ancestors, Banner turns into the wolf that he truly is. He become a great hulking beast that can destroy everything it touches. It sets Steve’s teeth on edge and makes him shift uncomfortably as he watches the transition. It only makes it worse when he thinks about how that could have been him if Erksine had made a mistake.

 

The Ordinary is Howard Stark’s son, and Steve immediately picks up the familiar scent of his father. While Howard was never officially his pack, no Mixes made family bonds with Ordinaries, he was still damn close to being a member. It aches more than Steve would care to admit when he looks at Tony Stark and knows that they will never be as close.

 

They save the world together, and Steve tries to make sense of it all. He only brings up the idea of ‘pack’ once, and they all stare at him like he’s lost his mind. Perhaps he has. He wanted to make a family out of misfits and there’s nothing to be had there.

 

His days are filled with an endless stream of distractions. He goes from one place to another, following orders and trying to assimilate with different groups and circles. No one wants Captain America in their pack, their leap, their clutch. They have their own rules and regulations, and Steve Rogers doesn’t make the grade. He never had. He thought maybe he got somewhere with Natasha, but the idea of opening himself up to another cat alone tears his heart in two.

 

“He was my best friend,” Steve told her once in the privacy of his own apartment. She listened to him talk about all the things he used to do. Her ears are forward and attentive, her tail is still at her side. She smiles when he mentions how Bucky could be had for a little distraction now and then, how he’d eventually succumbed to the idea of a pack so long as he could complain about it the whole while.

 

“He sounds nice,” She told him politely.

 

“He was my best friend,” he repeated. He didn’t know if there was anything else to say, and so he didn’t say anything. They sat together in silence for the rest of the night. In the days that followed she spent more time with him. She pretended it wasn’t for his benefit, and he thanked her quietly every night.

 

“We’ve all lost someone,” she said as she kissed his cheek. “It’s just a matter of time. But we’re all still here, in more ways than one.”

 

“Thanks, Nat,” it would never be enough, but it was a start.

 

Sam was the second bird he met, and he was exactly what Steve had always thought about when he thought about birds. He was charming, intelligent, and keen. They spoke to one another easily, and it felt like having an innocent friendship again, one that wasn’t marred by death and despair.

 

So of course, when Steve’s new job turns out to be a front for Hydra, Fury is killed, and he and Nat are on the run: he goes to Sam’s hours to ruin that innocent friendship all over again. And then, later, it’s Sam who pulls Steve back from the edge. It’s Sam who asks all the right questions, and gives all the right answers. Because when Steve is preparing to fight Hydra, and is faced with the Winter Soldier, he was not expecting Bucky Barnes to rise from the dead. Having Sam there to help him process that was a help he would never be able to express in words.

 

Steve didn’t recognize Bucky at first. It was hard to even find the resemblance. At first glance, he was an Ordinary. He didn’t have a tail, there were no top ears, and his left arm was a robotic limb suited solely for acts of war. His body was wrapped in tight leather that blocked out all scent, and his hair hung in his face. That, accompanied by the thick mask and goggles, had made recognizing Bucky nearly impossible.

 

Nearly. When the goggles were removed and the mask was broken off, the face was revealed and Steve knew it immediately. His first feeling was shock. His second was nausea. His ears and tail were _gone_. “Bucky?” Steve asked in horror, and Bucky’s voice asked him for clarification in reply.

 

Later, when Sam finally had a chance to talk Steve down from the cliff he was climbing, Steve couldn’t help but look at Sam and share the revulsion that had been building up within him. “How could they just be _gone?_ ”

 

“I don’t know, man. Maybe they were injured in the fall?” That option didn’t make Steve feel any better, but he wasn’t sure what was worse: knowing that Bucky had lost so much in the fall, or knowing that someone had intentionally removed them afterwards.

 

Someone had done a remarkable job trying to pass Bucky as an Ordinary, but it was all showmanship. There was no denying Bucky’s body as felid. He was too strong, too powerful, too quick. No Ordinary could do what he did, and it was impossible to pretend otherwise.

 

Steve fought him back because he had to, but he saved his life because Bucky was still his pack. Even as the last strokes of Hydra’s reign was falling to pieces around them, Steve wouldn’t lay another hand on Bucky Barnes. The would-be Winter Soldier punched and kicked at him with far too much strength, and all Steve could think of was how horrible it was that someone had mutilated Bucky so much. He wasn’t even trying to use his claws. He just kept his hands tucked into fists.

 

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve told him calmly. “You’re my best friend. You’re my pack.”

 

“No I’m not!” Bucky insisted, throwing himself at Steve and striking him again and again.

 

“You’re my pack,” Steve replied.

 

“No!”

 

“Pack.”

 

“ _No!_ ” Bucky screamed at him, but Steve didn’t care. He wouldn’t hurt his pack. He wouldn’t.

 

“Yes…you’re the leap in my pack, Buck.” He watched as Bucky’s eyes widened and his face twisted into dumb shock. Then the world gave away around him, and Steve didn’t know anything else.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Eight months after the fall of Hydra and Steve realized his leap was still alive, Bucky joined him in Stark Tower, and Steve realized that his awkward pack really did form while he wasn’t paying attention. Everyone from the were, the cat, the two birds, and the Ordinary were brought together around him, and they all embraced the quiet and lethal leopard that looked far too much like a normal man with open arms.

 

Bucky stayed curled up in a corner, ignoring most of them and pretending that they weren’t important. He wandered about the tower each day, but he spent the majority of his time in a nest he’d built in his room. He didn’t say much to anyone, but no one expected him to.

 

Tony ran a few x-rays and looked into exactly what Hydra had done to him, and Steve had nearly been sick as he read through the files. Bucky’s arm was lost first. That he legitimately had lost in the fall. The tail had been removed next when the doctors realized that it betrayed his emotions too much. Then, after determining that losing the top ears wouldn’t affect his hearing, those were removed.

 

A comprehensive search of Hydra archives uncovered the video file of the surgery. Bucky had been awake the whole while, thrashing and screaming as they tore away he beautiful ears. No one slept that night, and in the days that followed: more than a few Hydra agents were brought to justice looking like they’d lost a fight with a meat grinder.

 

The claws on his right hand and feet were removed later. He had tried to escape at some point and it was determined the risk was too great to let him keep them. As a cat, though, it wasn’t a matter of just removing the claw. His fingers and toes were mutilated viciously and it was a wonder he still managed to shoot a gun as it was.

 

Tony set to work immediately when he realized the extent of the damage. He worked all through the night and well into the morning, pulling everything he could together. He presented Bucky with his new hand as soon as he was able, and Bucky quietly watched as Tony fitted the replacement onto his left arm.

 

Pressure sensors at the tip of his fingers allowed for him to push claws out just as he had naturally all those years ago. Steve watched in dull fascination as Bucky released and withdrew his claws over and over again without stop. He repeated the action so often that Steve half wondered if he was even aware he was doing it.

 

“My ears?” Bucky asked quietly, looking up at Tony hopefully. The Ordinary paused for a moment, face twisting as he tried to come up with a response that would work.

 

“I don’t know how to do that, but I’ll see what I can do,” he said at long last. Bucky nodded and continued to work the claws from his hand again and again.

 

Steve could never see Bucky as an Ordinary. Even without his ears and tail, he never looked like one. Whenever Tony and Bucky stood side by side, it just became more obvious. Bucky held himself like there was power beneath his skin that was waiting to explode into action. His immediate return into kneading with his left hand whenever he was sitting someplace he felt comfortable wasn’t surprising in the least. Appearances were deceiving, though, and it seemed enough to fool some of the others he interacted with.

 

Sometimes Bruce or Sam would leap from their skin whenever Bucky quietly slipped up behind them when they entered the building. He’d follow them for a time and not say anything, and when they finally noticed he was there, he’d dart back into hiding. Steve had snorted when they brought it to his attention.

 

“He’s a _cat_ ,” Steve tried to explain. “He’s saying ‘hi.’”

 

“Why doesn’t he just say ‘hi?’” Sam asked him. “It makes me feel like I’m going to be his next kill.”

 

“That’s probably exactly what he thinks too,” Steve teased. It did nothing to make Sam feel any better. “He’s always been like that. Even before…this…he only sought physical contact with someone when it was on his terms. He complains the whole while too.”

 

“Yeah, but he doesn’t mind it with you,” Sam pointed out, and Steve shrugged at that. He couldn’t explain how after they found Bucky again, he was much more willing to stay by Steve than anyone else. A part of him liked to think it was because Bucky remembered him, but Bucky’s memory proved to be dodgy at best. Sometimes it seemed like he was doing very well, and then Steve realized it was mainly shamming and observation that got him by.

 

Still, Bucky did occasionally brush passed Steve or lean into his body when everyone was pretending not to notice. When he received his claws back, he would sit by Steve’s side and actually knead the fabric at his leg while they were watching a movie. Steve rolled his eyes and put an arm around Bucky’s shoulder, and by the end of the movie he was gently running his hand up and down his back.

 

The stitched flesh on Bucky’s scalp where his top ears used to be was _not to be touched_. He’d trailed his fingers there once and vowed to never do so again. Bucky didn’t attack. He didn’t fall into being the Winter Soldier. He simply froze and faded away, consciousness replaced by something that only did what he was directed to do and didn’t complain. His skin turned waxy and he perspired badly. His mouth was tightly pressed together, and Steve was more grateful than any other time when he realized Bucky still had his fangs.

 

“They kept that muzzle on him, so it’s not like anyone could tell,” Tony theorized. The fangs were the only things that Bucky still had of himself, and Steve was absurdly grateful that they remained. But his ears and tail were gone, and after Steve stumbled across his knee jerk reaction, he refused to even attempt to touch near the remains.  

 

Tony tried a few replacements for Bucky’s ears, but the headband shaped like fake ears was immediately turned down. Bucky had looked at it like it was something truly awful, and he was trembling as he ground out a memory of being given a headband once with Hydra. The agents around him had laughed in hysterics as they called him a good kitten and mocked the ears as embarrassment flooded his system.  He couldn’t fight back then. He knew better than to try to do anything about the ears, but he wouldn’t go through it now.

 

“I’d rather-I’d rather never-” he trailed off in a string of Russian, shaking badly as he shook his head. “Niet. Niet.”

 

“Okay,” Tony agreed.  “I’ll find something else.”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Two years after Bucky moved into Stark Tower with the rest of them, he quietly eased open the door to Steve’s room and inched closer to him in the dark. His right hand had been surgically grafted to hold new claws that were pressure sensitive just like his left, the metallic tail that Tony finally managed to put together was coated with spotted fur just like before, and his robotic ears covered the scars of the past. They wiggled and turned just like they should, and Tony had rolled his eyes as he adjusted the sensitivity so he could feel the beautiful pressure of fingers sliding through fake fur.

 

Steve watched him draw closer, and he sat up when he was only inches away. “You okay?”

 

“I…” Bucky hesitated and shifted from one foot to the other. “Pack?” he asked quietly, and the breath felt like it was torn from Steve’s lungs. He shifted backwards and lifted the covers.

 

Bucky dove in and immediately curled into a small ball with his back pressed lightly against Steve’s chest. Steve wrapped an arm around him and nuzzled the nape of his neck. “Pack,” he agreed as he felt the rumble in Bucky’s chest. The purr was soft and sweet, and it had been a long time coming, but it was there.

 

He clung to his littermate in the dark, and he fell into the first dreamless sleep he’d had since discovering what they did to Bucky’s body. Bucky was loose limbed and perfect beside him.

 

It felt like home.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr!
> 
> falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com


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